Get a Life
by MauMaster
Summary: Mark and April never really got along. He was a dork, she was popular. She was the torment of his high school years, he was her victim. Every day, without fail, she told him "Get a life, loser." How he wished she were around to say it again...


**Title: **Get a Life

**Summary:** _Mark and April never really got along. He was a dork, she was popular. She was the torment of his high school years, he was her victim. Every day, without fail, she told him "Get a life, loser." How he wished she were around to say it again..._

**Just a Note:** Hey, this is a little sad story that's actual backstory to a fic I never posted. It'll be up soon, I just haven't yet settled on a title. Anyhow, I never thought April and Mark were the best of friends. In fact, I think they disliked each other pretty heavily, at least at first. Here's my interpreation of their relationship. Get your tissues ready, people. It's short but sad.

**Disclaimer: You're what you own, and I own nothing. Wait. No. That means I'm nothing. I own... something. I'm not sure what, but I own something. I will soon own a Mark scarf. Can I be a Mark scarf? No? Really? Why? ... Oh, right. I can't be an inanimate object. But the scarf - Oh, okay, fine... I'm not a Mark scarf.**

**Oh, and by the way - Thank you, Jonathan Larson!**

* * *

Mark and April never got along. They grew up together in Scarsdale, but could barely stand to be within three feet of the other.

Well, starting in sixth grade, at least, when Mark developed a crush and April made an unofficial restraining order that gave the bullies liability to beat him up if he went within arms' length of her.

Since they sort of sat next to each other in class, Mark had more than his fair share of bruises.

Sixth grade was significant in other ways, though. It was when they both found their passions.

Mark, experimenting with an old camera, would wander around, snapping pictures of this and that, at different angles and in various lightings. _Click, click, click!_ was the sound you heard when Mark Cohen rounded the corner.

April liked clothes a bit too much. Even she would admit it. And when she got bored of outfits and colors, she'd mix things up, like sewing an extra pocket onto a shirt and in the process, ripping one out of her jeans. She doodled in class constantly, her dreams of becoming a fashion designer materializing on paper. Eccentric outfits could always be expected from April Ericcson.

In middle school, their rivalry went from plain dislike to disgust.

April made it her mission to get rid of that wretched camera once and for all. At the very least, she would make sure he ran out of a film. Reaching over and snapping a picture of whatever the camera was facing, whether it be the wall, the ceiling, the floor, or, in an interesting incident that got Mark into quite a lot of trouble, Nannette Gimmelfarb bending over for a pencil.

Mark didn't think that April was so bad. He hated what she did, of course, but he figured that she was generally nice. She had tons of friends and was easily crowned as one of the most popular, despite her clothes. In fact, the original designs made for quite a fashion trend in Scarsdale.

One day in eighth grade, they were forced to work on a project together.

Mark's Bar Mitzvah had just passed (he barely made the cut off for his grade) and he was eager to get home that day. He had finally convinced his parents to allow him to purchase a second hand video camera. He had to sell his old camera, but that didn't matter much to him. For the first day in weeks, his hands were empty, except the pen and notebook.

April twirled a piece of her red, curly hair with her pencil – rather, her _second _pencil, because the first was entwined in the curls, holding them into a bun. She waited patiently for Mark to approach her. She loved to see him flustered.

"Hey," Mark murmured. "Can I…?"

She gestured to the empty seat beside her. "Sit down. What are we doing this project on?"

"We need to pick a disease. Pick one. Any one."

April thought for a moment. "AIDS," she finally decided.

"Do you want to do HIV and AIDS, or just one?"

April raised her eyebrow. "Aren't they the same thing?" Mark shook his head.

"Of course not. I mean, they are closely connected, but that doesn't mean –"

"Hey, where's your camera?" April interrupted him, noticing the absence.

"Oh, I'm selling it," Mark answered quietly.

"Thank god. Finally!"

"I'm getting a video camera instead," he continued.

April groaned. "Wonderful. No filming Mondays, got it? Or I'll reinstate the restraining order." Mark rolled his eyes. He had gotten used to this threat ages ago. April persisted, though. "I'm serious. They'll flush your head _and_ your precious camera down the toilet."

"Good to know. So, HIV is –"

"Who cares?" April interrupted again. He shot her a glare. "It's not like any of us are going to get it! Why do we need to know all this crap?"

Later on, Mark wished he had his camera then, just so he could record the evidence.

High school was hell. While Mark had never been exactly popular, he had a decent amount of friends. By the end of October in freshman year, though, they had all been driven away. Some distanced themselves after hearing of his aching dreams to live in the city, filming for a living. Others had simply grown apart. Most had fallen into the trap that was April.

April collected her posse carefully. Few to no bullies besides herself, many artists, plenty smart people, plenty of average intelligence people, and a good share of boyfriends. And druggies, too, of course. Each person was analyzed carefully before being offered to join their group. And though April didn't like bullies much herself, she had no problem getting them to do some dirty work for her as far as Mark went.

Not that they wouldn't do any of that stuff in the first place.

By high school, Mark had to admit that he was a dork. Thick glasses, an overprotective mother, always carrying his camera and narrating… it was sort of a given. Plus, he had decided that if his mother was going to make him attend college, he might as well study HIV and AIDS. He hoped to at least help towards finding a cure. And so, in addition to a camera, he could often be found with thick medical books, studying.

"November 21st, 7 PM, eastern standard time," he muttered one night into his camera. He had decided to attend the school football game – or rather, had run out of the house, searching desperately for an excuse to get away from his smothering family. "Thankfully, April is nowhere to be seen. If she was here, I'd see her no doubt. Her hair is so damn bright r–" A hand reached over his shoulder and switched off the camera. Mark turned around in shock. April smiled coyly.

"Get a life, loser," she said in a sweet manner before standing up and walking away, making sure to bang her knee into his head, _hard_. Mark's eyes watered as he clutched his head.

From then on, he avoided her at all costs. Anytime they were within arms' reach, she would simply shut off the camera, with the customary sneer that became her catch phrase. "Get a life, loser." Mark sort of wanted to make a movie with it since she said the words so often. Of course, since she sort of made sure to turn _off_ the camera, he didn't have any footage.

Years later, Mark ran from Brown. He was sick of school, sick of not following his dreams, sick of having to study stupid things like common colds just so he could help people with AIDS. There were better ways to help them, he figured. Perhaps finding a cure wasn't the thing he would do.

On Halloween, he was dragged back to an apartment, sick and feverish, by three random people he had met on the streets. One, Roger, had given him a scarf, which he insisted that he keep. Maureen scared him to death, mainly because she was so pretty. And Collins was as smart as hell. It wasn't long before he discovered that he had AIDS.

In addition to these three, Benny, a guy who always yelled at him at Brown because his roommate's music was blaring, seemed pretty decent. And then, he caught a sight of red hair. April. The devil herself.

He tried to film her, or at least Maureen, even though he was sick and could barely pick up the heavy load. But of course, April reached over, turned off the switch, and said, "Get a life, loser."

But it was all right, soon merely a joke between two friends who ganged up against their strict Scarsdale parents and Roger.

Five years later, he found her still in the bathtub, red coating her arms and flooding around her pale body. Roger had been hysterical, inconsolable, uncontrollable. Collins had been quiet and sullen. Benny had found the note in the bathroom and was withdrawn and clinging to his fiancé, unable to make himself tell Roger the news that the dreaded note brought.

Mark had only one thing to say as he bent over April, cleaning off her wounds carefully before he let Roger step near. He leaned in, and so quietly he could barely hear it himself, said to her, "Get a life, loser."

Because for once, it was her who needed one more.

* * *

**Notes: **I should have gotten a tissue myself... It was sort of sad to write this, but I think it's a bit of a rite of passage for any RENT fanfic writer, even if you never post it. You've gotta have something with April's suicide. Somewhere, somehow. Originally, this was a fic about their rivalry but as soon as her "catch phrase" developed, I knew how I had to end it. Reviews and feedback is welcome. Let me know what you thought. Anything to help me improve, you know? Also, I love it when people tell me their favorite parts or what stuck out to them... hinthint ;)


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